Legend's Tale: The Shining Sword
by Yronhand
Summary: Rune-Midgard is home to countless legends. But at the end of all things, only one legend will determine destiny's path.
1. Introduction: A Wind from the West

Introduction

The lands of Midgard, is a vast world of creatures. Ranging from the docile and mundane woodland animals that live peaceably alongside Mankind, to the fearsome and lethal beasts and monsters of hidden dungeons and dark lairs.

And it is the time when the Elder Gods begin to stir, and the Aesir and the Vanir, the two opposing factions from the heavens of Asgard and the wastelands and hells of Jotunheim and Nifelheim make the opening phases of their battle.

And it will be upon the mortal realm of Midgard that this grand holy war shall be waged. A number of great cities and realms of Men dot the lands of Midgard, most of them the unknowing pieces in the great game that these immortal lords play, moving and shaping destinies to further their goals and desires.

But in the end, the fates shall be decided not by the gods, but by the will and strength of mortals.

And in one soul, one of many to be forged and raised to greatness and suffering in this coming war, this story shall be told from. One soul among the number to be destined to affect the world's fate, be it the end of Midgard or the rebirth of all. The Chosen of Fate.

Beware, for Ragnarok cometh, as a storm gathering.


	2. Chapter 1: Trials of A Novice

Chapter 1: The Trials of a Novice

"Move, move, move!" The voice of the taskmaster rang out loud.

The cries of the group of young would-be fighters yelled back just as loud. On the dusty training field, or rather, on the desert area where the members of the Morroc Militia practiced, the tired members of the said group trained under the watchful eye of their drill sergeant. The sun above was thankfully not burning as bright as it usually did, the glowing orb tilting off to the west, a few hours after noontime.

"Varen!" came again the firm and somewhat harsh tone of the sergeant. "Stop fooling around!"

The boy in question cursed under his breath, and went back into the pratice drill their were executing. He'd only stopped for a moment to shake away the sweat from his silver hair, so he could practice without more bother.

Beside him, his cousin, Aereth, smiled. As he swung the blade forward practicing the simple strikes they'd been learning, he spared his slightly older cousin a word. "You're loosing it, silver-boy." He spoke in a hush, accompanying it with a swing of his blade to cover any sign.

Varen glowered at the youth at his side. "Shut up. I can beat you any day, and you know it." He retorted at Aereth. And the boast was indeed true, for while their age gap was only a few years, three to be exact, the eighteen-year old was still far stronger and more skilled then his younger counterpart, despite the fact that Aereth was by now nearly full-grown, actually standing a bit taller then Varen himself.

"Mister Delotha, pay attention to what you're doing!" The militiaman growled from beside Varen. The silver-haired youth gulped, and hurried to get his swings and motions in sync again with the rest.

A short while later, the man clapped his hands and barked out again, calling to a close the training session for the day. "All right, let's wrap it up!" The rough-looking soldier glanced at Varen. "All of you are dismissed! Except for Mister Delotha, I want to have a word with you!"

Varen groaned, and Aereth shot him a half-sympathetic glance. "Sorry man, I'll tell your dad that you'll be a bit late okay?" His tanned cousin patted Varen's shoulder, then took his gear and headed off with the rest of the group towards the Northern Morroc gate in the distance. Varen shrugged, and picked up his practice sword and buckler, then trudged over to the militia trainer, the perfect look of a dismayed trainee walking off to a harsh trainer for a scolding.

He stood in front of the man, Jaskar, and waited for his punishment. After a few moments, the man sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what I am going to do with you, Varen. You could at least pay attention during basic practice!"

"That's exactly why I can't pay attention, Jaskar! Its…too basic! You know what I can do already, you know? I've had lessons from so many swordsmen already…" He quickly spoke.

And once again got shushed by Jaskar raising his hand, a stern look on the man's face. "No. Technique is not enough, Varen. A real swordsman has not only technique and skill. A real one has heart as well, and that I have not seen from you yet. And until you have that, I will not make you out that letter of recommendation so your father will allow you to join the academy at Izlude."

He sighed again, gritting his teeth in annoyance. For months it had been the same thing, over and over again. It was time he did something different about this, and acted! The young Delotha looked up at Jaskar Bassan's face with a looked he hoped was stern.

Jaskar noticed this, and a curious look appeared on his face.

"This has gone long enough, Jaskar. I'm going to go to Izlude, with or without my father's blessing or your recommendation." He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.

Jaskar was silent for a moment, before he broke out into a peal of laughter. "Oh, by the gods! You think you can go to Izlude just like that? What makes you think you can traverse the deserts of Morroc alone? You must be joking!" Just before Varen could think of another retort, the older man stopped him. "All right then, young one. How about this…if you can last against me in a fight for, say, three minutes at least, or even beat me if that's possible, I shall make you that letter! If you beat me, I shall even give you a prize!"

A mischievous twinkle appeared in Jaskar's eyes, which Varen barely managed to notice.

Varen looked at Jaskar suspiciously, and then said, "Are you serious?" Seeing the look on the man's face, he brightened up and smiled wickedly. "All right then! Three minutes shouldn't be too hard."

"Moron…" Aereth shook his head exasperatedly, as he sat on a chair, watching Varen get tended by a healer.

"Ouch!" Varen winced, as the white-clad healer poked at Varen. The youth glared at the woman. "Stop that! Stop playing around and heal me already!"

The acolyte shook her head exasperatedly, mirroring almost exactly the look on Aereth's face. "That's what you get for being so bull-headed. He isn't a training sergeant for nothing you know."

The Delotha winced again as the healer poked at him. "Yeah, I know…just, do it already." Varen's voice grew sober at this, and looked off to the side out his bedroom window. Aereth looked at the acolyte, Amber, who shrugged.

"All right then." The healer closed his eyes and placed a hand over Varen's shoulder, and over his chest and closed his eyes. A warm peculiar feeling emanated from Amber's hands, a pale glow of sorts. The numerous bruises that were Jaskar's "gifts" to Varen gradually faded, but not completely, a few marks still lingering.

The feeling suffused Varen's senses, and the youth began to relax. He looked at Amber curiously. "You didn't finish?"

The dark-haired trainee shook her head, and tucked a lock of hair behind an ear. "No, I didn't. For all purposes, your injuries are healed; they won't impede you in any way. But I left the marks there to remind you of today. Maybe it will help you gain some sense and responsibility, and stop you from raring off like a fool all the time." She sniffed as she said this, then nodded at Aereth. "If that is all, I shall be leaving now."

The young woman stood up and brushed the creases from her pale robes, the uniform of an acolyte-trainee. She left Varen's room, the wooden door creaking as it opened and closed. Aereth moved with towards Varen, dragging the chair over beside the bed.

"So how was the fight? You really did look beat up…I didn't think Jaskar was so harsh, I mean, you really didn't do anything…"

Varen shook his head quickly. "No, its not that." He paused, then explained to Varen about what had happened, from the brief conversation, to Jaskar's challenge, and finally about the fight. The fading sunlight outside shone on Varen's silver hair, causing it to shimmer as he moved to sit up in his bed. "It wasn't even a fight. I was totally massacred."

Aereth looked at Varen, a slight look of surprise on his face. "What? I know Jaskar is quite skilled, but he couldn't be that skilled could he? I mean, I know you, you've taken quite a few lessons under a few swordsmen and fighters, and you've got the skill enough to last at least three minutes with him…"

"That's just it!" Varen snapped annoyedly at Aereth. "I know how to fight, you know that. I know I have enough endurance to last more then three minutes, even if I just stayed on the defense." He nearly spat out the last part, a dark look on his face. "I don't understand it." He shook his head.

"I heard you got beat up by Jaskar." A new voice introduced itself into the conversation, and both Aereth and Varen turned around to look at its source. A tall, rather lean young man stood at the doorway, a smile on his face. Dark brown, long wavy hair and a boyish look were the defining features of their other cousin, the eldest of the three, Geano.

"Yeah…" Varen mumbled, his voice a tone of frustration and disappointment. He looked at Aereth. "There was something different about Jaskar when I fought him, you know? I mean, we've seen him train and practice, and we know he doesn't really keep a secret of his techniques and fighting style that much. But somehow…he was different when we fought…" Varen's voice trailed off at that.

The younger cousin shrugged and stood up. "Well, I'll be seeing you Varen. I have to go now. Don't think about it too much or anything, all right?" When Varen remained silent, Geano shrugged, and nodded at Aereth, who took the hint, and the pair left with Varen's door creaking as it closed.

Contrary to Aereth's suggestion though, Varen didn't avoid thinking about the fight. Instead the youth focused on it. He could still not figure out how the man had beaten him so thoroughly.

_He smiled at Jaskar eager for the fight to begin. The man nodded, and drew out his sword, a finely made scimitar, while Varen lifted up his own weapon, not the practice sword of the militia, but his own blade, a keen sword called the katana that was made by the master smiths of far-off Payon, where his grandfather hailed from. The last sunlight shone red as it vanished behind the mountains, and silence came over the two._

_Then it began._

_Varen dashed forth, and raised his blade to strike at his foe. The technique in itself was flawless, his draw from his saya clean, the arc of his sword heading straight for Jaskar. Then it was blocked and stopped, as Varen expected. Jaskar threw a counterattack, his blade flashing up from below and his side, attempting to score a hit on Varen, who simply drew his own sword back to block as he slid back over the smooth desert sand._

_"Come on! Is that all you have, whelp?" Jaskar spat at Varen, a tone of dispassionate iciness lending itself to the swordsman's words._

_"Just wait for it, Jaskar!" Varen retorted, and struck again. The youth dashed forward in a power cleaving attack that Jaskar blocked once more with his sword, the two blades locked in a game of strength. Slowly but surely, Varen was loosing this struggle, and immediately he shifted strategy. The youth let his blade disengage as he bent lower and instead smashed the hilt of his weapon into Jaskar's stomach. A grunt came from the man, much to Varen's delight, who immediately turned and spun to deliver the finishing blow to Jaskar's back._

_What met his attack was the scimitar, and the force behind the strike pushed Varen a step back. A counterblow sent the katana in his hand flying, so quick and strong it was, despite his hold. A ripple of sand billowed out from them, and Varen swore that a faint glow had flickered in Jaskar's eyes and about him before the boy was sent flying backwards and crashing into the dunes._

_The youth looked at the man with mixed feelings of shock, awe, and a newfound anger and grudging respect. Jaskar looked at him with a hint of pity in his eyes, and shook his head. "You have the skill, but not the true heart, young one. Nothing drives you." He muttered, as he sheathed his sword._

_"Get your sword, lest it be buried in the sand. Your father would not like it to be lost."_

Varen smashed his hand against the side of the wall, enough to make a sound but not enough to cause him any lasting pain. He looked once more outside the window, and saw his two cousins as they vanished into the streets of Morroc. In the morning, Geano would be leaving the city for Izlude once more, his older cousin already what he had wanted to be. It was true, Jaskar's words, he realized. His reason for wanting to join the Guild of Swordsmen in Izlude was a shallow, pathetic one. He merely wanted the prestige of being a swordsman, the glamour and fame. What was wrong with that, he reasoned. Nothing, but it was a mistake if that was his driving force. It only meant he was eventually doomed to failure. He sighed and shook his head, as the darkness took him and he fell asleep.

In the distance, upon the mountains that surrounded the frontier city of Morroc, a star flashed. The soft light moved, unnoticed for the most part as it streaked towards the city, and finally descended upon the home of the Delothas. A beautiful woman, clad in robes that flowed and moved as if directed by a magical wind, stepped through a blurry portal into Varen's room. Her eyes were filled with the knowledge of countless centuries, despite her youthful though somber features.

"Varen, young Varen. Soon shall your trials begin." She whispered softly, as she drew near to the sleeping youth. Her hand swept near his face, and she closed her eyes. "Become who you were born to be, Valkyr." Her hands now touched his brow, and a soft whimper passed his lips, and his sleep turned to dreams of a possible future, and his eyes were opened to darkness. Suddenly, she stiffened, and she gazed out into the desert night.

She stood, and looked at Varen, a soft light enveloping her. "Farewell, young valkyr. I may not spend more time here, for I shall be missed. Take my curse, and my blessing with you. I pray for you…" Her voice vanished as a chime, echoing in his dreams.

He stood alone, upon the sands. A familiar thing for him, save that he was in the center of the great desert. He was alone and without company, and without any equipment for traveling. It was surreal, and in his mind he thought that perhaps it was a dream. A howling wind grew from behind him, and he spun around to see the horizon darkening unnaturally, as if a great cloak was being cast over it.

The view shifted, faded and changed. He was alone still, viewing the great cities of the kingdom of Rune Midgard. The capital of Prontera, the great city of Izlude, the steppes of Payon, the port city of Alberta, and the frontier city of Morroc. Faces he did not know filled them, as thousands of people lived their lives in peace. Then the shadow he had seen cast over the desert skies came, and the people faded, becoming lesser and lesser.

And they came.

From the wild came troops of orcs, goblins and kobolds. Beasts who dwelled in the jungles and forests became hostile and filled with malice. From once sacred places and ruins darkness swept out, the undead and spirits of evil. Fire filled the skies and the cities were overrun and destroyed in front of his eyes. He gasped breathlessly, as the foul smell of these beasts filled his nostrils, and the scent of burned flesh invaded his senses.

Then he saw from the fires shadows, with a light from them. Steel was drawn, and the foul beasts of the wild were felled by the mighty blades of men and their allies, as both might and magic were thrown against those who would seek to destroy all civilization.

But those things were but the beginning. Deep into the wilderness and ruins, he saw even darker creatures then those that fought against the cities. Against them even the warriors of Rune Midgard fell, such was their might and dark glory. He cried out in his mind, and he stumbled back into shadows. He stiffened as a dark laughter came from behind him, and he turned to see dark cold eyes from beneath a helm of pure white. A hand reached out for him, and the eyes glowed with a light that was dark in itself.

All vanished, and he was suspended in a misty like place, though it was warm and a soft familiar light filled the place. He looked around, and saw nothing else for a while, until in the distance a wisp of light caught his gaze.

"Darkness is coming."

A voice he heard, a few words and no more.

"Become who you were born to be, valkyr!"

And Varen gasped, a light sheen of sweat covering his body as he woke from the dream.

Afternoon came once more, and again the young ones trained under the watchful eye of Jaskar. To the end of the line, Varen swung his blade with a vengeance, but a controlled one. In the past few days since his loss, the Delotha had seemed to change, a look in his gaze that was both haunted and fiery. It was a peculiar look, that Jaskar had seen only a few times before, in a few people he had met during his many years.

_May Odin forbid that he has an end like that of theirs._ He thought, as he oversaw the others. As before, the sun slowly dipped down beyond the horizon, and the master of their training called them to stop and depart. The young trainees heaved their usual sighs of relief or whatnot, and began packing their things, and walked back to the city gates. Varen was silent, and stood unmoving for a while. Then the youth dropped his blade, and picked up another small bundle. He released a sigh, and turned towards Jaskar. Aereth saw this and quickly moved to try intercept his cousin.

"You're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?" He asked, almost painfully.

Varen gave him a calm smile, and then strode purposefully towards the man. The few remaining trainees, those who had taken a while to fix their things, looked curiously at Varen as he approached their teacher.

Jaskar sighed, and turned to face Varen. "I assume you're going to try challenge me again, is it?"

Varen flashed a grin of his own. "Perhaps. I have found what I am lacking, Jaskar, and I will not let this challenge hinder me."

The man barked a laugh. "Well, I don't know about that, but you seem spirited enough at least. Perhaps I haven't beaten enough sense into your thick head yet, eh?" Jaskar paused then shrugged. "Why not? If anything, fighting you amuses me." The man bowed theatrically and stepped backwards, motioning for the few others who remained to back away.

Varen patted Aereth's arm, who looked at him incredulously. He stepped into the rough circle and laid his small burden down on the sand. He unwrapped it, and drew from the cloths a blade. The sword was a rather unfamiliar one to most, but Jaskar and Aereth knew which blade it was. It was primarily single-edged, although a fake edge ran along its spine, and it had a very slight curve to its body. It was Varen's gift from his mother, who had vanished when he had been born.

"Does your father know you have taken that sword out of your home?" Jaskar asked of him, curiously.

"No. But it is mine, not his. I claim ownership over it, and no one else." He replied smoothly, as he picked up the sword, and clasped his hand over it. "With it, I will defeat you."

"Defeat me, you say?" Jaskar raised himself to his full height and laughed. "I doubt that, flea of the desert, but you may try to irritate me if you wish. It is what you are good at after all." Varen merely nodded at that, instead of normally rising to the taunt. _A little change then._ Jaskar admitted, realizing that perhaps Varen was further down the path of learning then he thought.

The two faced off, standing apart by some paces. Jaskar's scimitar gleamed with the light of the setting sun, unlike Varen's own, which shone, but whose light seemed oddly subdued, Aereth noticed. "I will count." He stepped forward, looking at the two, who nodded back. "At three…" He raised a hand. "One…two…"

There would be quite a few tales of that day, or would have been had the fight happened. It would have been Varen's victory, some say, while others argue on Jaskar's behalf. Regardless stories were made about the two, though it was not a struggle against each other that they would speak about. Before Aereth could make the final count, he paused as a loud buzzing sound reached their ears.

"Th…wait, what is that?" Aereth frowned, and glanced around. The noise grew louder, and in a moment a large shadow made itself present on the ground around them.

Jaskar's eyes grew wide with surprise and shock, and he roared. "Down!"

The days of training and conditioning to his voice worked, as the novices hit the ground, and a large insectile shape swept over them, and up into the sky once again. Varen cursed, and looked at the creature. A chill ran up his spine as he saw an odd look in its eyes.

"Draw weapons!" Jaskar barked out, and they immediately began to hurriedly take out their arms.

A knife flashed through the air and managed to snag one of the beast's wing. Varen looked to see Aereth readying another throwing knife. The youth looked at Varen, and smiled. "Lucky throw." Before he could reply they had to dodge another flyby by the creature. Instead of flying off again, it decided to take to the ground and attack from there, probably not wanting to risk another injury or worsening its wing injury.

Up close, Varen could now see it more clearly. It was truly insect-like, however, besides the carapace and insect wings, it seemed to look just like a dragon from the storybooks. He frowned as a vague bit of information rose up in his memory. "Is that a…?"

"Dragon Fly…!" Jaskar spat, his scimitar at the ready. "Enough talk!" The man charged the beast, his blade flashing as he attempted to hit the thing. The Dragon Fly dodged, seemingly as agile on the ground as it was in the air. Its legs moved quickly, and Jaskar could barely evade the insect's counterattacks himself. After a moment or two, he managed to score a glancing blow against the insect's leg, and it let out a piercing cry.

Varen picked himself up from the ground as a flash of light filled the sky, probably a signal to call for aid. He held the blade in his hand carefully, as he tried to look for and opening. The sound of steel was in the air, and he saw three others try to attack it from different angles, wielding swords and shield. An arrow sprouted in its side, as yet another managed to draw a bead on the quickly moving creature and hit.

The monster shrieked and took after one of the others, who failed to avoid it and was flung away a dozen feet, the shield he held ripped in half. Blood spattered on the desert sand, as the injured youth clutched his shattered arm.

"Lure him away!" Jaskar shouted, and made another charge at it. The Dragon Fly snarled and hissed at the swordsman, and Jaskar and the others caught indeed its attention. Varen took a swipe at its leg, his blade chipping the thick carapace, but failing to penetrate, just like the others. A wayward leg clipped him and forced him to move backwards quickly. He slid a bit of the way down the dune, sand flying everywhere. He growled at this, and looked at Aereth.

"Distract him!" He shouted at his cousin.

"Wait, what are…! Damn it!" Aereth cursed as Varen barreled in towards the beast from its side. He quickly drew the last of his knives and threw it as powerfully as he could against it. The blade spun through the air, and wedged itself into the monster's carapace, digging down halfway, and was the only strike besides his wing hit and the first arrow to penetrate and truly injure the Dragon Fly. He pumped his hand up, and let out a whoop as it let out a howl of pain.

Varen quickly took advantage of this as he rolled under, and thrust his blade upwards into the beast's gut. As he suspected, it was softer the then other parts, having more sections and places to penetrate then the more unified outer carapace. Greenish white fluids spurted onto the sand from the wound, and he pulled away as it screamed and attempted to impale Varen on its legs, unsuccessfully.

The wound enraged it even more however, and much to his dismay, the beast took out two more youths, sending them hurtling backwards, and throwing one away with its jaws, that one landing in a rough heap on the sand, clearly seriously injured if not fatally, and leaving only Jaskar, Varen, and Aereth to face it.

It glared at Varen in anger, knowing he was the source of its most significant pain. It lunged at him, and he barely managed to back away and defend himself with his sword. Then he slipped on the sand, and it snagged him, its teeth tearing into his arm, and threatening to tear it away. He cried out loud, as blood spilled, and a wave of nausea threatened to overcome him.

Jaskar let out a cry, as he leaped almost impossibly at the Dragon Fly, wielding the scimitar in one hand now, and using the other to hold a dagger. He managed to land partway on the insect's side. He roared and smashed the dagger into the insect, and pulled himself on top of it. Leaving the dagger in its side, he took up his scimitar and hacked at the Dragon Fly's back, leaving a deep gash in it.

It rolled to its side and backed away from Varen, who managed to stop his cry and try focus again as a sharp pain shot up his arm. The fact that sand was everywhere was not helping. Aereth rushed to his side and looked at the wound, and winced.

"Don't worry about me, go help Jaskar!" Varen pushed his cousin away, who paused, then nodded as he left to pick up a weapon. He gasped as he looked at his arm. The wounds were painful, but fortunately not so deep. He could still move his arm, though after one try he stopped. His got to his knees and used his sword as a support as he struggled to stand back up and lift his blade. Aereth was dancing around with Jaskar as the pair attempted to buy more time for the town militia to arrive.

They managed to keep it at bay for a short while longer, and he managed to get up and bring his sword up. Then beast grew mad and went for Jaskar in a suicidal attempt to bring him down. The swordsman was surprised by this, but managed to deliver a blow to its face that tore the left side of its face up, before he was smashed against the ground by the Dragon Fly's charge. Aereth stabbed a borrowed sword into its side, but was kicked away and knocked unconscious by the force of the blow.

The beast itself was stunned by its own action and shook its head dazedly for a moment, before it looked at the prey it had finally managed to pin down. He could not explain it, but in that moment, he knew he had only one course of action. He brought both hands to his sword, and in a powerful two-handed blow he attacked the Dragon Fly and smashed his blade into its side. The weapon cracked the already battered carapace, and for an instant it held under the blow, before it finally cracked and allowed the edge of the sword to cut in and slice the creature's organs and let out more of its life fluids.

Another piercing shriek filled his ears, and the monster smashed him side once again, and set Varen crashing into the sand near Aereth, the sword stuck in it, digging in deeper as it moved. He shook his head dazedly, as he tried to recover his sense of balance, but instead it only made his head spin. Added to the pain lancing from his arm, he knew he could fight no longer.

He saw his sword throw aside as the Dragon Fly pulled it out of its side with its teeth, and looked at him. The cold fury in those eyes were like nothing he had ever seen before, and behind them he swore a demonic influence empowered the beast to be as deadly as it was. The sound of arrows filled the air, and a dozen shafts flashed in the dusk. Half of them missed, but the rest struck true, and Varen could see the beast take a step to the side from the salvo. The cries of the Peco Pecos that the town guards used seemed like music to Varen's ears. He could see a trio of them, with one on a Grand Peco Peco charge the beast with their lances, and topple the creature, before the dark of unconsciousness took him once more.

"It seems like I'm seeing you quite often nowadays, Mister Delotha." The collected voice of Amber was the first thing Varen heard again as he rose from sleep in his bed. He managed a weak smile at her.

"Aereth isn't here to greet me, is he?"

She shook her head. "No, not today. He suffered a mild concussion, and needs time to rest. The body needs to mend on its own, for some things. As for you, you'll be glad to know that I have fully mended your wounds. There are no scars going to form on you." She smiled warmly.

Varen nodded slowly with a sigh. "Ah, I see…" He shifted on his side carefully, feeling the many smaller injuries he'd suffered from being smashed by the Dragon Fly.

Amber frowned in confusion, and blinked. "You do not seem so happy at this. Don't tell me you wanted me to leave your wounds partially healed for them to scar?"

"Yes, actually I did. But it is all right. I don't think I'll need them to remember this day's events." Varen shrugged, and winced as a thread of pain made itself present in his side.

"And as well…the way it is being told, perhaps Morroc has itself a new young hero."

Amber and Varen turned to the door to see the bandaged figure of Jaskar at it. The older man nodded at Amber, who rose to depart. She spoke in a hush with Jaskar, before walking out of the door and out of sight.

"Glad to see you're well, Jaskar." Varen greeted the man, though his tiredness was already apparent.

"And you. Good to see you well. I only suffered a cracked rib, no more. Father Kalendras was kind enough to mend that quickly for me." Jaskar nodded, and took a chair from Varen's desk and sat on it. "You make a good fighter, young Master Delotha. I think the ranks of the Izlude Guild would do well with you."

Varen looked at him curiously. "Are you serious?" The weathered Morroc man tossed a small letter to Varen, with his seal upon it. Varen looked down at the pressed document, and then back up at Jaskar. The two were silent, then Jaskar smiled at Varen wanly and patted the youth's shoulder softly. "I'll be seeing you then."

Jaskar shook his head. "No, not quite. I'm leaving Morroc tonight. I have somewhere to go. This will probably be the last time you'll see me, for a long time."

"I see." Varen replied simply. "Don't let me keep you then. You know that I hate good-byes." He mumbled.

The door closed softly behind Jaskar, and the man left the Delotha residence, after bidding goodbye to Varen's father. The last Varen saw of the man was his figure as he left the grounds, and he would not see the man for a long time after.

A week later, Varen found himself standing outside the gates of Morroc, a few things in the caravan wagon assigned to him on the long journey from Morroc to the central lands, and to the coastal city of Izlude. Varen's father gave him a hearty hug before he left. Aereth stood to the side, a half-smile on his lips.

"So, you got your wish after all, Varen. You're on your way to Izlude."

Varen smiled at Aereth, and rested his hand lightly upon his sword.


End file.
